


Comfort

by Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)



Category: American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong, Generation Kill
Genre: Erectile Dysfunction, M/M, PTSD, Prompt: Comfort, The Iceman Cometh - Brad/Anyone Fic Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-29
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both injured in battle, Brad and Tunny find comfort in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No Glory In Battle Worth the Blood It Costs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/171383) by [Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia). 



Brad sat in a wheelchair in front of a mirrored wall. He was doing bicep curls with a dumbbell. His therapist said he had to build the muscles in his uninjured leg and upper body. His damaged leg would heal to _almost_ normal, but it would take time, until then, the rest of his body had to be strong to compensate.

His leg hadn’t been amputated, but he’d lost one third of the muscle in his right thigh and the two injuries were similar injury, his therapist said.

Against his will, Brad’s eyes were once again drawn to the kid behind him, learning to walk on a prosthesis. Tunny was his name. He’d heard it spoken time and again during his therapy appointments. Their regimens were similar, their therapists were friends, and their appointments seemed to overlap, if they didn’t coincide.

Brad had had a lot of time to study Tunny. He reminded Brad a hell of a lot of Nate. From his expressions, to his mannerisms, to the focused intensity he applied to his therapy, it always put him in mind of Nate.

“You’re doing fine, Tunny,” the therapist said as she helped him remove his prosthesis. “The amputation site needs to toughen up. That’ll happen when it happens. You’re doing great.”

Brad was just finishing another set when Tunny’s therapist unexpectedly wheeled him over. He found himself parked beside Tunny, close enough that it made conversation easy. If Brad felt like talking.

Maybe, if the kid didn’t remind him so damn much of Nate, he wouldn’t have been caught looking.

“Hey,” Tunny said quietly when their eyes met in the mirror.

“Hey,” Brad answered, replacing the dumbbell.

“It’s Brad, right?” Tunny asked, obviously paying the same kind of attention to his surroundings that Brad did.

“Yeah. Tunny is it?”

“Yeah. IED?”

“Ambush.”

“Iraq?”

“Afghanistan.”

They had their own language, here at the V.A.

“Marine, right?”

“Was. Army?”

“Yeah. Was.”

Brad sat silently while Tunny worked through his set. When he finished, he dropped the dumbbell to the floor beside his chair.

“Your friend picking you up today?” Brad asked.

Tunny looked at him in surprise. “Stocky guy, dark hair spiked up all over the place?”

“Will,” Tunny supplied.

The Army nurse had stopped picking him up or dropping him off weeks ago. Brad guessed they’d met when Tunny had been injured. Now that he was mending, there was less to fix. She probably tried to make things easier for him. He already felt useless, her efforts just emasculated him further.

“Did the nurse move on?” Brad asked.

“Yeah,” Tunny eyed Brad carefully. “Is there anything you don’t notice?”

“Recon Marine.”

“Oh,” Tunny breathed, eyebrows lifted, “not just a badass; a major badass.”

Brad snorted.

“Which one of your fan club members is picking you up today?” Tunny asked, meeting Brad’s eyes challengingly in the mirror.

“My fan club?”

“A different guy picks you up almost every time. Never any women. What’s up with that?” he was smirking now.

“Those are guys I’ve served with, over the years. They want to help out.”

“There’s one that comes more often than the others. The guy in the suits?”

“Now who’s noticing everything?”

“You’re kinda hard to miss.”

Brad chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Tunny worked through another set. He set the weights down, breathing heavy. “You wouldn’t wanna maybe get a drink sometime, would you?” he asked, surprising Brad.

He wanted to. He’d like to see Tunny outside of therapy, someplace where they could both pretend they weren’t damaged beyond repair. Drinks meant bars and bars meant loud, crowded, confined spaces. Brad couldn’t do that for Nate, let alone a guy he’d met in the V.A. hospital.

“You know Lake Jingletown Park?” he asked. “The statue of the guy on the horse?”

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Meet me there tomorrow at one. It’s smooth, level ground, easy parking access.” It was fucked, the things they had to consider now, just to get around town.

“Okay,” Tunny agreed easily. “I’ll be there.”

In the door of the therapy room, Tunny’s friend – Will – suddenly appeared. “Hey, Tunny,” he called. “Ready to go, man?”

Will crossed to where they sat and threw his arms around Tunny’s shoulders from behind. It was subtle, but because Brad was watching, he saw when Will nuzzled the hair at Tunny’s temple. Brad had to look away.

There’d been a time that kind of easy affection had passed between Nate and him. Brad missed it. He knew Nate did, even if he never said so.

“See ya,” Tunny called as Will started to wheel him away.

“Yeah, see ya.”

The next afternoon, Brad sat on a bench near the statue in Lake Jingletown Park. He watched Tunny’s slow and steady approach. He wore his prosthesis and leaned heavily on his cane. Pain etched lines on his face but he pushed ahead, determined.

When he reached Brad’s bench, Tunny sank down heavily with a pained sigh. Brad looked away, giving him as much privacy as he was able.

“Does Will know you’re here?” Brad asked when Tunny was settled.

“No,” Tunny said, meeting Brad’s eyes unflinchingly. “Does your suit know you’re here?”

“Nate,” Brad corrected. “His name is Nate, and no. He doesn’t know.”

They sat on the bench, their undamaged legs pressed together at the thigh. They talked. They talked about anything that wasn’t their injuries, therapy, or how fucking useless they both felt. At first, anyway. Then, Tunny mentioned the nurse.

“She was an extraordinary girl,” he said on a sigh. “She got me through it; all the pain, the anger, the depression. Talked me into coming back home, which is the best thing I could’ve done.”

“Then she started hovering, doing everything for you, saying she only wanted to make things easier for you,” Brad supplied. “Until you felt like you couldn’t do a damn thing for yourself, even though everyone said you were getting better.”

“Yes, exactly,” Tunny exclaimed. “Anytime I said anything about it, she got pissed. Finally, she said I didn’t need her anymore. Got herself deployed again. When she left, she said Will could take care of me, since I preferred him to her. I didn’t even realize Will was taking care of me.”

“She’s a nurse. She’s a nurturer. She needs to fix people. You didn’t need fixing anymore.”

“I guess. Will treats me just like he did when we were growing up. If he’s getting up, he’ll get me a beer. Otherwise, I gotta haul my own ass off the couch.”

Brad nodded his understanding. Nate was good at that, too; expecting Brad to do for himself, treating him no differently than before he’d been injured. Brad didn’t understand why he couldn’t feel the feelings he knew he still had for Nate.

“What about your suit – Nate?” Tunny’s question pulled Brad from his thoughts. “Does he treat you like a helpless kid?”

“No,” Brad answered sullenly, unfairly angry at Nate for always getting things right. “No, Nate gets it.”

Brad turned and looked out over the park, just so he couldn’t look at Tunny. He had no idea what was in his eyes at that moment, what was written on his face, and he didn’t want the kid to see.

Brad felt something lay across his left thigh, the one pressed against Tunny’s. He blinked several times at the sight of Tunny’s hand, resting palm up, fingers open in invitation. Tunny was looking in the other direction, silently waiting.

Brad glanced around them, confirming the afternoon crowd had waned and they were alone in a public place. He twined his fingers in Tunny’s.

As comforting as the touch was, Brad’s throat tightened. This was what Nate wanted from him, this ability to touch and be touched. Most of the time, Brad couldn’t stand it. Once in awhile, he was okay with it. Occasionally, he fucking needed it. Nate had a life and couldn’t be at Brad’s side all the time, so he missed a lot of those times, and that killed Brad. He wished he could give Nate what he needed.

Brad startled slightly when Tunny laid his head on his shoulder. This was nice, the easy understanding and acceptance. Brad imagined this might be what those support groups had to offer. Maybe it would be good to feel this more often. He just didn’t think he was ready to sit in a group of strangers and _talk_ about his _feelings_.

Brad pressed his lips to the top of Tunny’s head. He inhaled deeply, smelling his soap, shampoo and faint traces of a light cologne. It was nice, but it wasn’t Nate. Still, he did smell good and his body was firm and warm against Brad’s.

It felt perfectly natural when Tunny’s lips covered his own. It was easy to open to the tentative questing of Tunny’s tongue. There was no passion behind it, on either side. But it was affectionate. It was a comfort.

Brad lifted his head and Tunny lowered his own back to Brad’s shoulder.

“Why are they still with us?” Tunny asked quietly, echoing a thought constantly running in Brad’s head.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

When it was time to leave, Brad asked, “Do you need help? Cause if you do, you’ll have to call someone. I have enough trouble keeping myself upright.”

Tunny snorted a laugh. Brad carefully pushed himself off of the bench, taking a few seconds to steady himself. He’d gotten pretty good at this without his cane. He glanced away while Tunny struggled to his own feet, leaning heavily on his cane and anything he could lay his free hand on. Brad wouldn’t offer unless Tunny asked.

They reached their cars and decided to exchange cell phone info. They thought it might do each of them some good to meet up again, outside of therapy and away from the watchful eyes of Nate and Will.

One day, Will came for Tunny after therapy. They didn’t see him approach so they were still talking when he suddenly ran his hand over Tunny’s shorn hair. It looked awkward and juvenile and painfully affectionate. “Tunny! Who’s your friend?”

Introductions were made and Will was friendly and accepting.

Not long after, Tunny was showing Brad how his prosthetic fit when Nate suddenly appeared behind them. How long he’d stood there watching, Brad didn’t know – stealthy Recon motherfucker. When he finally noticed Nate, Brad was forced to make introductions.

As Nate made small talk with Tunny, Brad cataloged their similarities. He also clearly saw their differences. He doubted Nate had ever been as raw and angry as Tunny. He was sure that Tunny would never have Nate’s ease and quietude.

It made him glad to be going home with Nate.

Over the next months, Brad and Tunny talked often and met frequently. Brad’s issues meant they were always in wide open spaces, never in a crowd. Tunny didn’t cut Brad any slack. He didn’t judge the growing number of scars on Brad’s arms. He didn’t make a big deal of it when Brad told him about the flashbacks and anxiety attacks. But Tunny _did_ tell Brad to get his ass to one of the PTSD doctors at the V.A., shaking his head to refute each of Brad’s excuses why he couldn’t or wouldn’t.

They held hands as they talked, sometimes they kissed. There was no point in groping each other, neither of them had much of an ability to get a hardon these days.

Then came the afternoon when Brad punched Nate during a flashback. He came dangerously close to losing the most important person in his life and it frightened him. He let Nate find a private therapist who specialized in law enforcement and military and never missed an appointment.

Tunny was quietly approving. Brad’s progress encouraged him to go the V.A. psychiatrist and try to get his own anger under control.

Brad was getting better. He was feeling better; the anxiety and the hyper-vigilance were greatly reduced. He’d stopped the self-harm entirely. There were still just too many times when Nate touched him that he’d shrug it off. There weren’t enough times when he could bring himself to touch Nate. Brad was desperate to take away the pain that lingered in Nate’s eyes. Now that his feelings for Nate filled him up again, he wanted Nate to know. Brad had always been better at showing than at telling but that way was still out of reach for him.

He texted Tunny to meet him, the next morning, at a motel just outside of town. Brad arrived early, checked in, and texted Tunny with the room number. It was a ground floor room, of course.

A part of Brad expected Tunny not to come. A larger part of him knew that Tunny would show.

The knock, when it came, was rapid and crisp. Brad let Tunny into the room. Neither of them spoke. Brad sat back on the single king sized bed, letting his right leg rest on the floor. Tunny sat beside him, mirroring Brad, letting his prosthesis hang to the floor.

At first, they just talked about the things they always did. It was reassuring and comforting. Suddenly, Tunny ran the back of one hand over his forehead.

“Fuck,” he murmured harshly.

Brad just turned to look at him, knowing he’d talk if he wanted to; when he was ready.

“I wish things were like they were back in high school,” Tunny said, sighing heavily.

“I think everyone would like to go back in time,” Brad mused.

“No, I’m okay with all this,” Tunny gestured toward his amputated leg. “I just miss the way things were between me and Will back then.”

That was a sentiment Brad could relate to. Lately, he’d been remembering that last time with Nate, the night before he’d left for his deployment. They’d fucked vigorously; intense and sweaty, completely unselfconscious. That was what Brad wanted back.

“It’s not like it was any good back then,” Tunny continued with a laugh. “It was all fumbling in the dark. We were clumsy and awkward. We had no idea what we were doing. At least we had a reason for the way we were. We knew it would get better. Now, it’s awkward and uncomfortable ‘cause neither of us want to admit there’s anything wrong with me.”

“Do you let Will see your stump?” Brad asked.

“Yeah, all the time.”

“I’m not talking about wound care, or an empty pant leg,” Brad clarified. “Do you ever let it just _be_ when he’s around, without it being the center of your attentions?”

Tunny was silent for a long while. Then, “No.”

Brad said nothing more. He knew the seed was planted.

“Do you?” Tunny asked, turning on his side to face Brad. “Let Nate see your leg?”

“It’s something I’m working on,” Brad admitted, turning to face Tunny. “I’m already better about it. That’s not our big problem, though.”

“Still having trouble letting him touch you?”

Brad sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

Slowly, carefully, Tunny leaned in and pressed his lips to Brad’s. When their tongues met, there was more passion between them than there had ever been before. Brad reached out and cradled Tunny’s head with one hand. Tunny covered Brad’s hand with one of his own.

It was a good long while before Tunny pulled back. He stayed close enough that Brad could still feel Tunny’s breath against his cheek.

Slowly, carefully, Brad moved his hand to the waist to Tunny’s jeans. When he experienced no resistance, Brad slid that same hand further down until he could grasp Tunny’s cock through his jeans. He rubbed hard at Tunny’s crotch, eliciting a soft moan.

Brad startled slightly at the feel of Tunny’s hand squeezing him through his own jeans. His situational awareness had gone to shit, apparently. Tunny’s hand felt good, gripping him hard through the denim. To his silent delight, he started to get hard.

Tunny seemed to be okay with what was going on, so Brad reached for his fly. He tugged open the button and pulled down the fly. Brad reached into Tunny’s briefs and pulled his mostly-soft dick free.

He felt Tunny’s hand working. Brad sighed into Tunny’s mouth at the feel of his calloused fingers when they wrapped around his dick. He was only slightly hard. Brad was getting more than a little pissed off with this chronic lack of response from his body. Still, it felt good to have someone else’s hand on his cock, stroking him with no particular intent.

Brad tightened his grip on Tunny and felt a little more blood flow into it. It grew slightly in his fist as he stroked. He tried for a steady rhythm.

“If you could do anything with Will, what would it be?” Brad asked against Tunny’s lips.

“I want him to touch me just like this,” Tunny gasped. “I wanna fuck him. I wish I could get hard enough to fuck him again.”

“Close your eyes and pretend,” Brad whispered. “Pretend you’re all the way hard and fucking Will. Just relax and let go.”

He watched Tunny’s eyes flutter closed. Brad kept whispering to him, telling him to picture himself, fully hard and fucking Will. He told Tunny to remember what it felt like to be inside of Will; the heat, the friction, Will moving against him. Tunny’s cock grew in Brad’s hand. It was hot and heavy, mostly hard but still softer than he knew Tunny would like.

“Can you come?” Brad asked, when Tunny’s breath caught and his hips stuttered. “Want me to keep going?”

“Yeah,” Tunny gasped, his hand on Brad’s dick tightening. “Please … just keep …”

“Just think about being inside of Will,” Brad soothed.

Tunny’s body stilled and he released a strangled groan. His cock pulsed in Brad’s hand; small, stringy jets of come oozed over Brad’s fingers. Tunny’s expression was strained, like he was pain. If it was anything like the times Brad managed to come, it probably did hurt. Their battered and broken bodies didn’t seem to want simple things like erections and orgasms to be easy for them.

“Jesus, fuck,” Tunny breathed harshly. Brad released him and reached for one of the two towels he’d placed on the bedside table. He cleaned his own hand before handing the towel to Tunny so he could clean himself up.

Throwing the towel to the floor, Tunny reached for Brad’s soft dick. He stroked it several times.

“You don’t have to …” Brad started.

Tunny cut him off, “Shhh. We can try. Do you think you can?”

“I don’t fucking know anymore,” Brad said heatedly.

“Relax, don’t stress about it. It’s just you and me.”

Tunny’s hand _did_ feel good.

“Close your eyes,” Tunny whispered. “If Nate was here and you could do anything you wanted, what would you do?”

Brad didn’t have to think about the answer to that question. “I’d have him suck my dick. I fucking love watching him do that.” It had been too long since he’d had Nate between his legs, lips around him, green eyes watching him intently. He was afraid to even let Nate try anymore, there was never any way to know if he’d be able to get hard.

  
He’d never have thought that the sight of Nate’s lush mouth wrapped around his cock wouldn’t be enough to get him hard as nails and ready to blow his wad.

“Picture him lying between your legs,” Tunny began, mimicking the way Brad had talked him through his fantasy earlier. “His pretty mouth is stretched wide around you. Remember how he looked with his cheeks hollowed when he sucked hard on you. Remember how he tongued your slit. Remember how hot and wet his mouth felt on your dick.”

Brad pictured it all. He could see Nate’s mouth, red and swollen, wrapped around him. He could feel himself slide in and out of the tight, wet heat. Nate used to moan around his cock, sending vibrations down into Brad’s balls. He used to get so hard watching Nate watch him. He used to get so close to coming so fast, it pissed him the fuck off.

Now, he was lucky to get a half a hardon. Nate’s jaw would ache and still, Brad wouldn’t be anywhere close to coming.

Tunny was so patient. Brad concentrated on his memories but he never got more than halfway hard. He was about to tell Tunny it was no use when he felt a familiar tingling in his balls. Brad clenched his fists. He squeezed his eyes shut. He focused on the slide of Tunny hand on his cock and he pictured Nate’s wet mouth sliding down to bury in Brad’s pubic hair.

It hurt when he came. His gut tightened, his balls ached and all of his muscles clenched. It felt like his dick had to work twice as hard to shoot the smallest amount of spunk.

Brad bit back his groans, afraid they sounded pathetic. His chest heaved with each labored breath.

All that pain for three miniscule jets of come. Fuck. Brad was tired of being a pathetic pussy.

He retrieved the second towel from the table and cleaned himself before giving it to Tunny.

“Do you believe them when they say it’ll get better?” Tunny asked when they’d lain in silence for a time. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to get all the way hard again? Will we be able to come in a few minutes instead of a few hours?”

Brad chuckled at Tunny’s hyperbole. “Yeah, I do. It’s already better than it was. Sometimes I think I make it worse for myself ‘cause I worry about disappointing Nate.”

Tunny sighed. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “Will’s so good about everything and I just keep letting him down.”

Brad remembered something Nate had said to him recently. “Progress, not perfection,” he murmured.

“Hmm?” Tunny furrowed his brow in confusion.

“We only think we’re letting them down. They cut us more slack than we cut ourselves. The only way we’d let them down is if we stopped trying to get better. We only fall short of our own expectations, not theirs.”

Not long after, they left the room separately.

At first, Brad wasn’t bothered by what he and Tunny had done. It felt like a thing apart from what he had with Nate. His time with Tunny was about acceptance and healing. He felt comforted with Tunny. Nate was … Nate was a challenge. Nate was stimulating and passionate. When they were together it was about passion and lust, sometimes it was even about fun and humor. Fuck but he wished he _tell_ Nate how he felt.

The only person who knew about that afternoon with Tunny was Brad’s therapist. The PTSD therapist. A small sliver of guilt had wormed its way into Brad’s head and he’d had an anxiety attack. Nate had made him an appointment but Brad didn’t think twice about keeping it.

When he’d told the therapist about his guilt over trading handjobs with Tunny, and how it was compounded by the fact that Nate was paying for this fucking appointment because of the resulting anxiety attack, Brad was surprised by the response.

His therapist asked him what he thought it meant that he’d sought comfort from someone who reminded him so strongly of Nate. What did he think about the fact that, while he’d had another man’s hand on his dick, it was thoughts of Nate that got him hard and made him come.

Maybe it was time for Brad to just fucking relax accept that fact that Nate cared for him. He was sticking around, no matter how long it took Brad to heal. Brad’s body had its own timeline. Nate understood that. Brad just needed to accept it, and stop trying to push Nate away.

Two weeks later, he took Brad off of the antidepressants.

Four weeks after that, Nate crawled into bed with him. Brad got an erection. It was a very good night.

Two weeks after that, he met Tunny for a drink in an actual bar.


End file.
